


him

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider, Pack Dynamics, Pictures, Scott Finds Out, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 18:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11789157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He skips pastresearchand only briefly glances atrandom shit.It's the last folder that makes him pause.It's labeled simplyhim.





	him

**Author's Note:**

> This was loosely inspired by the gorgeous cockles fic, Him by emwebb17.

The fact is Scott doesn’t get to prank Stiles very often. It’s not that he minds, really. He’s known since he met Stiles that he’s not the brains of the operation, and he’s never resented Stiles for that--he adores his brilliant friend too much, is in awe of the way his mind runs faster than his quick mouth, the way he’s  _ funny _ even when he’s self-deprecating. 

And there’s the whole fact that Stiles was a vicious little bastard, and he never let anyone, not even Scott, insult his friend. There was once, in second grade, when they came home bruised and bleeding, and Stiles glared and said it was Scott’s fault because he was being mean to himself. 

So he knows--he can’t keep up with Stiles and he rarely gets the chance to do more than shove his physical strength in Stiles face. So when he sees Stiles’ phone sitting on the table after a pack meeting, while Stiles is busy talking to Erica--he grins wide. He waits until Stiles shouts something about pizza and bangs out of the loft with Erica, and then scoops up the phone and ducks into the bathroom, ignoring Derek’s curious look from where he’s moving furniture with Boyd, setting up for the puppy pile. 

Scott fucks around for a few minutes, posting a few ridiculous statuses on Twitter and then swipes over to Stiles’ gallery for an embarrassing photo on Instagram. 

He’s not surprised by the almost ridiculously organized system Stiles uses to sort his photos. There are some things--his bedroom, his Jeep--that are a mess, as chaotic as Stiles himself. 

But then there are other things, things like his research and his computer organization, his school work, that he is almost militant and anal about. 

So he’s not surprised to see the neatly labeled little folders. There’s one called  _ Family _ with scanned photos of Claudia and recent pictures of John. A few of Nana Stilinski, and even one of Melissa, which makes Scott absurdly pleased. 

There’s one labelled _ Goddess of my Heart,  _ and Scott smiles as he scrolls through photos of Lydia, sometimes alone and sometimes smiling indulgently at Stiles.  

_ The pack _ is self explanatory but he scrolls through it anyway, grinning at the shots of puppy piles and one of Erica curled up in Boyd's arms while Derek sits close, black veins standing out as he drains her pain. There are dozens from their full moon runs and it reminds Scott of the good things that come from the supernatural. That they got this amazing dysfunctional family to go with the endless shit storm.

He starts to feel bad when he starts scrolling through _brothers_ and finds hundreds of photos of him and Stiles, laughing and fighting, a few of them crammed in a bed too small for either of them, much less both. He smiles though, rubbing his thumb over the bright grin of Stiles laughing at something he said months ago, the summer shining around them. 

He skips past  _ porn _ and  _ research _ and only briefly glances at  _ random shit _ . 

It's the last folder that makes him pause. 

It's labeled simply  _ him.  _

A tendril of unease snakes through him and he almost closes out, locks the phone. 

He doesn't. He clicks through. 

Derek stares back at him, dozens and dozens of photos of Derek. Some of them, it's clear he didn't know Stiles was taking--he's talking to other people or training the betas, distracted. A few, he's staring, startled, into the lens, the flare distorting his eyes but not his expression.

Some, though. 

Scott's stomach swoops, and he knows he shouldn't be looking at this. Because this Derek--he isn’t allowed to see this Derek. He didn’t even know  _ this _ Derek existed. This Derek is a soft smile over a cup of coffee, eyes bright. It’s a Derek who glares with no heat and all fond exasperation over the top of a YA novel. A Derek who Stiles caught laughing, head back, mouth open, eyes scrunched closed. 

It’s a Derek who falls asleep under a fluffy blanket on the couch,  head tipped back, throat bare and vulnerable. 

He sure as hell isn’t allowed to see the still sleeping Derek, arms shoved under the pillow, or Derek who smiles sleepily, one eye peeking out from where he refuses to move from his pillow, or the one who snuggles a barechested Stiles in his arms, glaring at the self Stiles took before hiding his face in Stiles throat. 

This. 

This isn’t something he’s meant to see. 

It’s sweet and gentle, and so fucking important, because Stiles is never that happy, not even when he’s with Scott, and Derek is almost human, in these pictures, like he’s holding something he’s allowed to keep, something he  _ wants  _ to keep. 

He scrolls a little further and catches a kiss, blurry and off center, like Stiles forgot he was taking the picture, he got so caught up in the kiss. 

There’s a few more, blurry and uncertain, a close up of a hickey and a open wet mouth and then---

Yep, that’s definitely Derek’s naked chest splattered with come, his head tipped back, expression crunched in what could only be described as an O face. 

Scott locks the phone so fast he almost drops it in the toilet. 

He stands there for a long time, because this is new. 

Except it’s not--it’s pretty obvious that what’s growing between Stiles and Derek is not even close to new, is old and comfortable and familiar, grounding in a way that he can’t even begrudge. It stings, a little, that they didn’t share with him. But. He thinks about it, that wide smile on Stiles face while Derek kissed his neck and hid--and he grins. 

He slips out of the bathroom and passes the phone off to Derek with a simple, “Hey, found Stiles phone.” 

Derek pockets it, a smile on his lips, so faint he could miss it if he wasn’t looking for it. 

But he is. And it makes him hide his own smile. 

When Stiles comes back, Scott watches and it eases the last little niggle of worry he’s feeling as he watches Stiles look around the room, and find  _ him _ , the subtle tension in his shoulders easing as Derek gives him a small smile. 

Scott’s ok waiting for them to tell him. But in the meantime, he snaps a picture while neither Derek or Stiles are paying attention to him and saves it under a folder to give Stiles, later,when he’s confided in Scott about the whole being in love with their alpha. 

He labels it simply,  _ them. _

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847549) by [boxofmagicalfury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofmagicalfury/pseuds/boxofmagicalfury)




End file.
